


Lifetime Performance

by GoSherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: "Sherlock's POV", Angst, Drama, Explanations, Gen, More Hurt Than Comfort, Pre-Slash if you look closely, fix-it (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoSherlocked/pseuds/GoSherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Baker Street scene between Sherlock, John, and Mary in His Last Vow preyed on my mind until I tried to find an explanation for Sherlock's behaviour. I did not expect this to become a fanfic but there you are. This is not really a fix-it but my way of explaining what went on in Sherlock's mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifetime Performance

**Author's Note:**

> As always a very special thank you to Schmiezi and Davina from BBC Sherlock Fan Forum for their encouragement, critical input and brit-picking.

Leaving the hospital has been quite easy. True to his motto of hiding in plain sight Sherlock has got his coat out of the locker. Probably, John had saved it when the paramedics undressed Sherlock and had later put it there. By sheer luck it was neither torn, nor soaked with blood. He heaves himself into the wheelchair and rolls towards the lifts.

The first triumph of fooling a strict-looking nurse with the universal gesture of putting a cigarette to his mouth fades when he enters the lift and suddenly realises he is not feeling as well as he had while lying in bed.

Well, it cannot be helped. Not after the unpleasant surprise of finding Mary Watson in Magnussen‘s office. Not after being shot by her. Not after waking up to her eery singsong voice demanding he keep quiet about all this to her husband.

Her husband. Sherlock loathes the term, the possessive pronoun even more than the word itself.

He knows full well that John will have to learn about Mary but in a more subtle way. He will have to see for himself instead of having Sherlock tell him a truth that seems too outrageous to be believed.

When the lift stops he takes a deep breath, rolls out into the lobby and looks around carefully for Lestrade who has threatened to visit him. Probably with his phone ready to film Sherlock drugged up in a bed, a thing he seems to find excessively funny. No one in sight, not even John. John, who has never left his side for more than five minutes and has only agreed to get himself some proper food after Sherlock nearly threw him out of the room.

A cab. He needs a cab to get him to Baker Street as he is wearing only a hospital gown open at the back and pyjama bottoms under his coat.

The cabbie looks him once over before asking dubiously “Trying to sneak away, mate?“ which earns him an icy stare.

“221 Baker Street. And fairly quick. I know your tricks so don‘t bother.“ The man helps Sherlock into the back and swears under his breath when loading the folded wheelchair into the cab.

“If you really need that thing, mate, you‘d better stay in there.“ 

"Stop talking and go. I‘m in a hurry.“

The man throws him an offended glance and gets behind the wheel. Sherlock leans back and closes his eyes. The feeling of doing something totally necessary and completely foolish increases steadily. The pain in his abdomen is getting stronger by the minute and he feels a small rivulet of sweat trickling down his face. He hopes Mrs Hudson will not be at home. She would fuss and get angry and worried and call John and possibly Mycroft … He has no time for that. He has to get into the flat before John arrives which he will surely do after having discovered the empty hospital room. He gets out his phone and writes a text.

_Get a projector to 23-24 Leinster Gardens. SH_

_**Why?** _

_Just do it. Hurry up. SH_

The cab stops and he opens his eyes. His lids seem heavier than before. The cabbie fumbles the wheelchair out of the car and helps Sherlock who stuffs some banknotes into his hand. “Keep the rest.“

“But mate …“

With a dismissive gesture Sherlock pushes the wheelchair to the door, puts the key into the lock, slightly opens the door and listens. Nothing. The house seems to be deserted. He leaves the wheelchair in the hallway and hesitates for a moment. Never before have the seventeen stairs seemed that long and steep. When he reaches the landing, he is drenched in sweat.

Once in the flat, he shoves John‘s chair back into the living-room but dares not sit down for fear of not being able to get up again. The gesture somehow seems necessary. Then he returns to his bedroom, undresses - checking the bandage on his abdomen which looks inconspicuous - and puts on a clean shirt and a suit, socks and shoes.

Downstairs he debates with himself for a moment, then takes the wheelchair and somehow manages to carry it onto the pavement. He flags down a cab. After he has got in he sees a car stopping by. Lestrade and John get out. And in the same moment Mrs Hudson turning around the corner. A close call.

He gets out his phone.

_Come at once. 23-24 Leinster Gardens. SH_

And now, for Mary.

You don‘t tell John, says her voice in his head.

I won‘t, he thinks. You will.

 

Thank God this cabbie seems to be tight-lipped. Sherlock does not want to talk. He tries to concentrate on his next task. The pain is getting worse. There has been no blood on the bandage but as for internal bleeding … he will somehow have to hold up until this is finished, until John knows the truth, until …

Until what? What does he expect John to do? Tell the police? Hand over his own wife on a plate? Divorce Mary? Stupid, he thinks, stupid. I am not functioning well, they have kept stuffing me with drugs and now my brain starts to rot. Morphine has never been his drug of choice.

When the cab stops in front of the empty houses in Leinster Gardens, Billy is waiting on the pavement, a bulky plastic bag at his side. While Sherlock is paying the cabbie, Billy gets his stuff out of the cab, looking dubiously from the wheelchair to Sherlock. “Sure you‘re alright, Shezza?“

“What do you think?“, he snaps. Then, a bit softer: “Thanks for getting this. I will tell you what to do while I wait inside.“

After having instructed Billy, he sits down in the wheelchair and tries to cope with the pain. He is cold in spite of the coat, and his fingers are trembling. No matter, he will get this done and then return to the hospital and let them fill him up to the brim with morphine.

 

“What the hell …? Sherlock!“ John‘s voice startles him from his contemplations and he tries to get up. One second later John is pressing him down again.

“What the hell were you thinking? You scared me to death! And what is this supposed to be? Dramatic as ever.“ Sherlock can see the worry in John‘s eyes which his friend tries to hide beneath his fury. “This is dangerous.“

“Dangerous is what you like, John.“

John looms over him. “Not now, not like this. I nearly lost you last week … and then you just go and bolt from hospital … are you out of your mind?“

Before he can continue his rant Sherlock grabs his hands. “Listen, John, there is only so much time.“ He rises from the wheelchair and starts to ruffle John‘s hair. “Put up your collar. Sit down. Just like that.“ Sherlock looks at him imploringly. “Please do this for me, John. You will see. It won't be long now.“

Something in his voice must have convinced John who remains in the wheelchair and nods sharply. “Alright.“

Sherlock gets out his phone.

 

It is the look in her eyes when she kicks the coin towards him that does it. Cold, filled with hatred. Making him bend over knowing full well it will cause him pain. In this very moment he sees her for what she truly is. The facade shifts and reveals the woman that has always been there. He suspected it after their first meeting but chose to ignore it, to become her friend instead, to let her have John although he is the most precious thing in his life, the one person he cannot live without.

His strength is fading. Breathing has become difficult. His thoughts are frantic. She must not feel threatened by me. And I must protect John at all cost. So he comes up with a ridiculous theory comparing her shot at him to surgery. He has no idea if John will buy it, what John might be thinking in this very moment in which he realises he has married a murderous stranger.

Sherlock will never forget John‘s face when he switches on the light and his friend looks his wife in the eyes, the pain and fury there. But for now he has to concentrate on his own heart throbbing more and more erratically in his chest.

 

The cab drive to Baker Street is a nightmare, the tension between them palpable. Nobody speaks a word. Sherlock closes his eyes and tries to breathe deeply but the pain is burning him from within. He might be bleeding internally. Bit not good. But worth the effort. John is worth every effort.

John and Mary walk up the stairs before him. He has to pause on the landing and grips the banister like a lifeline. He feels like an actor who is dreadfully unprepared and yet has to give the performance of his life. Except Sherlock does not aim at standing ovations but at saving John Watson. There is one thing he can do, however, one thing that might help him through the next minutes and maybe save his life. He phones an ambulance hoping they will arrive in time. But until then -

His legs start going all wobbly and he has to brace himself on the doorframe. Suddenly the idea of taking morphine seems more tempting than before. He hears Mrs Hudson‘s anxious voice from the living-room, stirring up hope. She probably has some useful stuff in her kitchen downstairs.

 

Mrs Hudson has no morphine at hand so Sherlock has to make do. Thank God, John helps him by throwing in the word psychopath which gets Sherlock started. It is tricky, steering John away from attacking Mary to attacking Sherlock instead and then persuading him to treat her as a client. Sherlock is a good actor, has always been a good actor, but his performance this evening on the stage of 221B deserves an Olivier Award. He lashes out viciously at Mrs Hudson, shows sympathy for Mary, and tries to reason with John, all the while knowing his time is running out, that any minute now he can collapse, and if he cannot not make Mary believe that John is willing to listen to her, to understand her situation, maybe forgive her and love her, in spite of her past, then everything has been in vain.

Strangely the hardest thing is telling John that Sherlock and Mary are alike, making John believe that he feels attracted to both of them because they provide him with the danger he craves like oxygen. This much is true. But Sherlock knows he is no psychopath, has never been, not even a sociopath. It is just a word he uses like a shield to protect himself, nothing else. He would never, ever rob John of someone he loves. He has given him symbolically to Mary because he thought she deserved him. And Mary has nearly robbed John of his best friend and is willing to try it again. But as long as John stays with her, he at least will be safe.

Sherlock remembers her words from before. _I would lose him forever – and, Sherlock, I will never let that happen. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening_. And what if John decides to leave her? If she loses John forever because this is what he chooses to do?

So Sherlock makes one last effort, never forgetting for a second that Mary is his audience tonight. “You can trust Mary. She saved my life.“

Then he finally lets go, feels the hands of the paramedics lowering him to the floor, smells the rubber of the oxygen mask on his face. _I hope I did well._ Then the thinking stops.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear from you. Looking forward to your comments and questions.


End file.
